Maths was awful, but I had never really been good at the whole 'remember the complicated equations thing' so it was to be expected. History, and science were almost as bad.

After that George abandoned me. I found the room, and opened the door. The art room was filled with the familiar scent of paint, and ink. It had two long, paint stained tables that ran the length of the room. A large, dark, wooden desk was in one corner, and a whiteboard at the front of the room was completely covered in artwork, stuck to the wall with magnets. It felt nice in there, friendly, comfortable.

The teacher, a young woman with long blonde hair, introduced herself as Miss Ward, and led me to a seat at the back of the room. I sat down, and she handed me a piece of paper, and a pencil.

"What's this for?" I asked. She smiled gently,

"For drawing of course. On Fridays we have free draw, you can do whatever you want, dear." She drifted away, and began adjusting one of the pictures at the front of the room. I idly sketched something, unsure of what it was to become.

The random lines were beginning to take shape, I thought it might be a graveyard, but never got the chance to finish, because someone tapped me on the shoulder. I set my pencil down, and turned around in my chair.

It was a girl about my age, perhaps a little older. She had pale blonde hair, cut severely across her forehead. Her uniform was unwrinkled, and neat. Her face was cold, and unfriendly.

"You're Julie Carlyle?"

"Lucy, actually." She flicked her hair out of her face,

"Whatever. Tonight you're going to clean the gym, you'll meet there with your friends at nine." She said the word 'friends' as if it was a sour taste on her tongue. I disliked her.

"Okay. What's your name." She glared down at me,

"Kat." She turned on her heel, and strutted out the door. I returned to my paper, feeling slightly discouraged.

In the end, my graveyard looked pretty grim. The lines were thick, and dark. The shadows deep. I left it on my desk when the bell rang.

I had English with George, he passed me a note while the teacher wasn't looking. It said:

You have to clean the gym too? I scribbled back something affirmative. And went back to doodling on my grammar worksheet. Once English was done with, I headed towards the gym with George.

"The gym is the worst." He was saying, "It's always dirty, and you have to polish it till it shines." We met up with Lockwood, who was carrying a long, hard case. He grinned,

"Ready for rapier play?" George mumbled something darkly, but I smiled back,

"Sure." I had picked up fencing as a hobby when I was younger, and although I wasn't particularly good at it, it was good at distracting you from other other matters. "What do you have in there?" I asked, jerking my head in the general direction of his case.

"Sword." He said, "Got my own last weekend. What are your plans for this weekend?"

"I don't know." I said, "What's there to do around here?"

"You could always pick up a useful hobby." George said.

"Oh fencing is plenty useful, you're just being sore."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are. Anyway, you could do lots of things." His dark eyes gleamed when they met mine, "You could explore the tunnels."

"Tunnels?"

"Yes yes, the tunnels, well look we're here!" George interrupted. "Go get changed Lucy, we'll meet you here later."

I found the coach, and he gave me a uniform. I changed in the locker room, and sat down on the bleachers once I was done.

The gym was big, two of the walls had bleachers, two didn't. There were fencing strips on the floor, and a rack of jackets off to the side. One of the walls without bleachers held a rack of sabres. I noticed everyone was getting into their gear, so I hurried to do so myself.

Fencing was fun. I was able to beat three people, I lost to a girl I didn't know, and Lockwood. Lockwood was amazing, he twirled his fancy rapier left, right, and center, and always hit his mark. He never faltered, never stumbled, and always won.

"How'd you do that?" I asked, when he finished a bout. He shrugged,

"Practice." And he turned, and walked away. He tapped someone on the shoulder, and (I assumed) asked them to fight him. I was a little taken aback,

"Don't take him personally." George said, "He sneaks out here to practice at night sometimes, does it to get out his frustration I think." I watched as Lockwood dashed forward, and, yet again, hit his opponent.

"Huh." I said. "Why do you think he does that?"

"To get his frustration out. I just told you." George said, I glared daggers at him,

"I meant why?"

"Oh." He shrugged, "Who knows? He's quite the enigma, I don't get him at all. Too flighty, too cheerful, too good-looking."

"Is someone jealous?" I asked, and smirked. George was unruffled,

"No, not really. He's so good that the teachers always point it out, and he's so busy he never has a chance to just sit and read."

"What're you talking about?" Lockwood asked, and sat down next to me, wiping some sweat out of his eyes.

"Nothing." I lied, "How was your match?" He opened his mouth to speak, but the bell interrupted him, so instead he said,

"See you at lunch." And went to put his sword away. I took off my gear, and changed back into my skirt, and blazer. When I came out of the locker room they were waiting for me.

"What do we do know?" I asked. "Classes only go to lunch?"

"Yeah, we have the rest of the day to either work on homework, or find new ways to spend our time." Lockwood said, "I wonder what's for lunch today?"

Lunch was a salad with small tomatoes, and cheddar cheese. All in all it wasn't too bad, I mean, it was edible. After that I went to take a nap, I didn't have any homework (If my home was school, would it be schoolwork?) and didn't fancy reading the books above my desk. I fell onto the bed, and let my boots hang over the edge, so I didn't have to take them off. I closed my eyes, and drifted off.

I gasped, opened my eyes shot wide open, and I breathed hard. I was covered in sweat, and my body felt sore, and tired, probably from being tense for hours. The clock read eight thirty. I had slept for seven hours, yet somehow I felt more tired than I had before I laid down. I got up wearily, and stretched. Then I decided to find my way to the gym.

The halls were dark, and cold. I buttoned up my jacket in a futile attempt to keep warm. The gym doors were closed when I found them, I pulled them open, then stepped inside, and let the heavy doors fall shut. The gym was the same as it had been last time I was there, only more ominous now. It was cold to, and I shivered. My boots made muted taps as I wandered around looking for cleaning supplies.

Before I found them the doors swung open, and two figures came in. One was tall and thin, the other short and stout, so I made my way over to them. As I got closer I could see they were both carrying buckets, and Lockwood had a bundle of rags over his shoulder. His smile practically glowed in the semi-darkness, illuminating his face.

"Evening Luce, you ready to mop the floor!" I said something intelligent in the form of a grunt, and took George's pail. We set to the tedious work with little excitement. It became a routine, George sat at the bucket, and when Lockwood, or my rags got dry, he'd dip it in, and hand it back. I worked well with them, even though I had just met them yesterday, I felt like I had known them my whole life.

I was closer to them then I was to people I'd known my whole life. I thought sadly. And that's when everything began.